On The Devil's Path

12

Remy finally went on a business trip with a full entourage of his employees several weeks later. Kurt pretended to fuss at the announcement-acting, after all, was something he was very good at-saying that he had finally gotten used to having Remy at home, and now he was going to start disappearing again?

"Don't be difficult." Remy kissed the corner of his mouth in dismissal. "I'll only be a few days."

It was a good thing he wasn't capable of reading the thoughts that ran through Kurt's head.

The moment the parade of cars disappeared over the rise of their sloped, massive front lawn, Kurt's pulse began to speed up. He knew Blaine was somewhere in the house, which was now staffed only by a skeleton crew, employees who would only show up at predictable times to cook and clean and would attempt to remain unseen and unheard even then. They most certainly wouldn't come anywhere near the master suites to change sheets or vacuum or scrub the bathrooms unless Kurt was somewhere else for the day. For the next few days he and Blaine could do whatever they pleased in certain places in the house, within reason.

He found himself strangely frozen, and most assuredly spoiled for choice. He lingered so long in bed after his shower that morning that Blaine came to him instead of the usual opposite. Kurt held his breath as Blaine closed and locked the door behind him. He was wearing a tank top and track pants, a few wispy curls of hair escaping the gel around his ears. He must have been in the gym, or used the indoor track, or-

Kurt smelled him, clean-sweat-tangy, from across the room, and almost moaned aloud. He stifled the urge out of habit and sat up in bed, the Egyptian cotton pooling around his hips. He hadn't bothered to put even underwear on after his shower, and anticipation had made his cock flushed and heavy.

And Blaine was there, breathing rapidly from rushing across the house, the muscles of his shoulders and arms and chest bulging against the sheer white tank top. Kurt sat up straighter, put his arms in front of him, cupped his elbows and stared at Blaine from underneath his eyelashes.

"We can be anywhere you want." Blaine crossed the room. "Just tell me."

This was a consideration Kurt hadn't made. The irony was, he didn't want to be anywhere else.

He drew up on his knees. The sheets fell away, allowing Blaine to see every inch of his naked body. He'd forgotten what it was like to feel powerful like this, ten times stronger than even the most exquisite clothing could make him, carrying the reality of his skin and bones proudly-a boast of the simplest kind.

Blaine's lips parted in surprise. His eyes fell, as if compelled, down Kurt's body, as Kurt shuffled forward on his knees.

"I want you right here." He felt silly saying it, but also sure. He sat back on his heels, spread his thighs, and palmed the slightly rougher skin above the slope where his pubic hair grew coarse. "In this bed." He slid his hand around the base of his cock, then lower, skirting his balls and pressing his fingers there, just behind, where he was warm and silky and already throbbing. "In me."

"God, Kurt." Blaine fell to his knees on the edge of the bed and then promptly stopped, almost as if his desire to drink Kurt in with eyes was warring with his desire to touch and taste and take. He reached out unsteadily when the latter won, his fingertips dancing down Kurt's jaw, neck, and chest, his eyes glued to Kurt's stiffening cock rising up beside his clenching forearm as his fingers stroked between his legs. "We have time for anything. Everything."

Flushed pink down to his nipples and his pupils dilating, Kurt closed a fist in the material of Blaine's sweat-damp tank top and pulled him in, kissing him roughly. Aggression danced like a drug in his veins-he wanted this, Blaine wanted this, and they were going to do it. He couldn't wait any longer.